


Echoes

by Occula



Category: U2
Genre: Adam/Other - Freeform, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 08:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12295296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occula/pseuds/Occula
Summary: Adam replays the argument in his head.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on LJ Nov. 11, 2003.

Fast driving didn’t help me escape his voice.

_Why do you have to behave this way?_

Fast walking hasn’t helped much either.

_You don’t have to be so reactionary. You don’t have to do this to yourself._

The music in here is deafening, but Edge’s sorrowful voice in my head dominates.

_Why do you want to hurt me? Why do you need to hurt yourself?_

Drink, and drink quickly. Drink hard.

_You don’t deserve punishment. You’ve done nothing to deserve such pain._

A guy I know – a dealer I know – slides up and murmurs in my ear. “Great stuff … Amsterdam …”

“How much?”

A deal is struck. We adjourn to the men’s and swap a wad of bills for some small paper packets.

_Don’t do this. It’s, it’s not necessary that you do this._

When I turn to leave, he offers to blow me for an additional two hundred.

I turn back, trying to look indifferent. He’s good. Very good. I offer him fifty. He offers to swallow. We haggle.

_Please. Don’t hurt yourself. Be careful._

We settle the matter and go into a stall. He sits and opens my belt.

_Just treat yourself better._

He’s … skilled. The sordid nature of it adds to the excitement. Soon I’m trying to stifle my sounds. I hang just below the peak for a moment, thrusting, and then oh fuck, it’s now, fuck fuck yes.

_You deserve better than you allow yourself._

I throw in an extra fifty. He made it last; he didn’t have to do that.

When he’s gone I wet some paper towels and hold them to my hot forehead and eyes, my hands trembling, catching my breath. I dry off and put my specs on and look in the mirror. I don’t know what it is I see in my own eyes, but I don’t like it.

_I love you._

I need another drink. A fucking double. Right fucking now.

_I love you. For God’s sake._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge also replays the argument in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on LJ Nov. 13, 2003.

I should have known better. I’m horrid at this.

_Edge, just please don’t. Not this again._

I can’t help trying to … what am I trying to do? Change his mind. Change his mind about himself. I want him to know what he apparently does not: how wonderful he is. How deserving.

_You’re wrong about me._

I can’t just seem to leave it at that, though, can I? I begin with reassurance, but I somehow seem to progress to lecturing, and then to browbeating.

_Please … I’m sorry. … I’m sorry._

As if he doesn’t hate himself enough, I somehow manage to imply that his mindset constituted failure. I spark the idea that he’s failed me.

That’s not my intention. I don’t want to break him down. I want to build him up. I only want, somehow, to force him into reality, to make him see what it is that I see in him.

_You don’t understand this, you don’t understand me. Just leave it the fuck alone._

Happy, Edge? Happy? You’ve driven him away yet again. Why don’t you just tie him up and pour liquor down his throat yourself?

_This is how I am. I can’t just snap my fingers and change how I think. You can’t tell me how to feel._

I could use a few drinks myself. This is the worst part, the worst thing I go through – to say nothing of what it does to him. I’ll be here when he gets home. In an hour, or in the morning … or longer than that.

_I am fine. Just fucking fine._

God only knows what’s happening to him right now. I imagine that he’s smashed his car and is lying in a pool of blood. He’s out there grabbing at any way to damage himself that he can; he’s drinking, he’s …

_Can we not do this, just once? Not have this conversation?_

Secret fears breed in my secret heart. I’m terrified of heroin, horrified by the idea that he might be driven to cross that line one day. Of course, I also worry about arrest, injury, public degradation … disease.

Oh my treasured one. What have you done now?

_This is going nowhere, as always. Fuck this. Fuck you and your fucking lectures. I don’t know. Out. Later. Who gives a fuck?_

My beloved one. My bright, beautiful flare. Just come home. Home safe to me. Forgive me yet again, as you are already forgiven. Stop using yourself as a whipping boy. Stop the punishment, pain, and humiliation. Your continual struggle, your search for a way to drag yourself down, only reveals how above it you must be. You seek to mortify and degrade what refuses to submit. Your splendid self.

_I don’t know whether you love me or not, Edge._

I do. I do. I do.


End file.
